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A SONG. 257
No soaking sot forsakes his spouse, For mugs of mantling nappy;
Nor taverns tempt him from his house, Where all are pleas'd and happ}r.
Our frugal taste the State secures, Whence then can woes begin ?
For luxury's turn'd out of doors, And prudence taken in.
From hence proceeds th' abundant flow, Of plenty through the land;
Where all provisions all men know, Are cheap on ev'ry hand.
No pleasure-chaises fill the streets, Nor crowd the roads on Sunday;
So horses ambling thro' the week, Obtain a respite one day.
All gaming, tricking, swearing, lying, Is grown quite out of fashion ;
For modern youth's so self-denying, It flies all lawless passion.